


inefficient omniscient (and other shitty band names)

by nanodarlings (incendiarism)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Coming of Age, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan-centric, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Swearing, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incendiarism/pseuds/nanodarlings
Summary: Remember everything that brought you to this point, and then let it all go. Sing your dirty little soul out. Close your eyes and ride out the moment, or keep them open and commit everything to memory. It doesn’t matter. Everything’s fleshed out and everything’s got a pulse. And nothing matters except for you and the music.Because this? This is Lucid Dream.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 60
Collections: NCT OT3 Mood Board Fic Fest





	inefficient omniscient (and other shitty band names)

**Author's Note:**

> wahh it's finally here! my entry for ot3 moodboard fest! a thousand thank yous to the mod who arranged all of this; i loved my assigned board so much (even if it took me a while to write this) and in general the concept of this fest is so, so cool.
> 
> happy (slightly belated) birthday haechan! and to everyone else: thank you for clicking, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> also to anyone reading, please check out [this carrd](https://moreblminfo.carrd.co/) if you haven't already to support black lives matter. thank you.

_Present day:_

The sound of the bass thrums against Donghyuck’s chest, loud and steady, like an incessant knock at the door telling him to open up. He’s wrapped up in the sensation: sunken in the way the swell of the booming line rips through his skin, in the way it carries him through each note. In the way that it drops, plunged deep into his gut, and it festers—raw and nuclear.

Maybe it’s the sort of thing that’s predatory, that latches onto you and never lets go. Maybe it’s like a livewire. Maybe it’s acidic; maybe it sloshes inside of you as it eats away at your soul. _Hell_ , maybe it’s the devil, here to collect what he’s owed for all of your success.

Or maybe it doesn’t fucking matter. Maybe it’s more the rush of being onstage. It’s the wave of sound that washes over you, the fans and the band alike swallowing you up whole. It’s something about the feeling you get when you peek out from backstage, twenty minutes till showtime, and you’re hit in the face with how real everything is, how alive.

Some concoction of fear, adrenaline, and steely determination to do things _right._

That moment when you finish a song and the world erupts around you. That moment when your hands finally loosen from where they’ve been locked around the mic. That moment when you realize that everything—all the cheers and fanfare and sheer _adoration_ —it’s all for you.

There’s nothing like it. No drug quite as addicting, no rollercoaster with the same kick to it. And, lord, you could die right then and there, drop to the ground from overdose, and you’d feel nothing short of pure bliss.

So, stand on the stage—feet anchored on the ground and head tipped proudly up towards the heavens. You know you look good. You know how magnetic you are.

Remember everything that brought you to this point, and then let it all go. Sing your dirty little soul out. Close your eyes and ride out the moment, or keep them open and commit everything to memory.

It doesn’t matter. Everything’s fleshed out and everything’s got a pulse. And nothing matters except for you and the music.

Because this? This is Lucid Dream.

— 

_Seven years ago:_

The band finally settles on Lucid Dream after cycling through many, _many_ other names.

(Really. They’d even considered for a while to simply _not_ have a name for the aesthetic, but Chenle had shot that idea down—something about branding, about people actually recognizing them and having something to call them by.)

It starts one sticky summer in Jeno’s basement. The four of them—Renjun, Jeno, Jaemin, and Donghyuck—sprawled across the couches and bean bags in as many odd positions as possible. Two bags of family sized chips spread between them and a treasure trove of half-empty soda cans littered on the floor. The whirring of the fan working overtime in the heat; the odd sounds of Mario Kart in the background.

Good shit.

Jaemin’s the one to bring it up first, right as he throws his controller down in victory after demolishing Renjun in a race: “We should, like, fucking start a band.” He says it nonchalantly, a slight lull in his voice—the way someone might say _we should get pizza tonight_. And it’s hard to tell whether or not he’s being serious—because on one hand it’s so out of the blue that he may as well be talking about rocket science, but on the other hand it’s Jaemin speaking.

So, naturally, they stare at him to see if he’ll pull the punchline over their heads in a second—to no avail. Meaning that everyone then takes a moment to process, which is a common occurance whenever Jaemin opens his mouth.

Jeno, the first to react, blinks at him slowly. “That’s, uh, that’s sudden? Where did this come from?”

“Eh, nowhere really. Just think it’d be cool,” Jaemin responds, still maintaining that easy tone.

Donghyuck, after essentially going _ah, screw it_ in his head, jumps in: “I mean, why not?—” he pauses to cram a handful of chips into his mouth— “We can all read music and whatever, right? And there’s nothing much better to do,” he says through a mouthful of crumbs, before licking his fingers clean and wiping his hands on Renjun’s shirt.

“Okay, first of all— _gross_ , what the hell,” Renjun says, wrinkling his nose a bit. “Second of all—” he continues, before he cuts off and mulls it over. Donghyuck can almost see the _aha_ moment cross his face as he considers the pros and cons. “There is no second of all actually. Yeah, I’m down.”

Jeno, as the self-proclaimed voice of reason in the group (which… is debatable, in Donghyuck’s most humble opinion), just looks between Renjun, Jaemin, and Donghyuck like a lost puppy and sighs. “I’m not getting out of this one, am I?”

“Nope!” the three of them chime in unison.

“Fine. But I call dibs on bass.”

Which, fair enough. They let him have it.

And so it all begins.

— 

Their first band name—or at least, their first band name that everyone is mostly satisfied with—is Eldritch Apartment. Something about Renjun’s weird love of Lovecraftian horror and Jaemin’s side passion for real estate that just happened to work with everyone else?

Hmm. Yeah.

Scrapped ideas had included: Renjun and the Idiot Cult (Renjun’s suggestion, immediately shot down), your brother’s really bad weird friends (the lowercase stylization was cool, but the full thing was deemed too much of a mouthful to say), and Scimitar (also cool, but too hard to spell)—as well as a few more that they’d tried out, but none that really stuck.

So, yeah. Eldritch Apartment.

Compared to figuring out a name for the group, assigning positions is actually remarkably easy. They honor Jeno’s dibs on bass, and Jaemin’s an easy shoo-in for lead guitar, which leaves Donghyuck to take rhythm guitar and Renjun to take keyboard, and Jaemin to rope Jisung into playing drums. Chenle declares himself their manager—which they only reluctantly agree to—and, without much further fanfare, they’re off.

Things go… better than expected, all things considered. They’re, well. They’re all dumb teenagers with nothing better to do. Sometimes rehearsal goes well and they’re productive enough, and other times they get stuck on trying to figure out how to cover the Mario theme song for three hours straight before giving up in order to prevent someone from getting choked out.

Once more, good shit.

But it’s fun, and it takes up a decent amount of time, so it’s a fine enough side project for them. And when school starts again, eventually they all get too busy to keep going and the band dies a quiet, natural death. Turns into something they only mention every once in a while— _hey remember that summer where we started a band? god, that was weird_ —when they’re feeling nostalgic, and nothing more. And that’s the end of that.

—

_Present day:_

If there’s nothing like the thrill of performing, there’s something to be said about being backstage post-concert as well. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, a lot of sweat, a lot of collapsing into the nearest chair. Donghyuck feels his heart ram against his ribcage, feels his blood rush. Someone reaches over him to grab a water bottle. Someone else starts cheering.

It never gets old, really.

This is usually the moment where everything sets in. The moment where everything you’ve been putting off catches up; the moment where you stop and go _oh_ , italics and all.

Some senior in the industry had once said that the stage is for the performance, for the music, but backstage is all of the aftermath—and Donghyuck is inclined to believe them. Sitting backstage after a concert and realizing just how far you’ve made it, realizing that this is it, this is your big break. Thinking back to all of the tiny gigs you used to accept, ambitious and maybe a bit desperate to get your name out there.

It’s… surreal, to say the least. A bit of an odd realization, one that leaves you reeling, wondering how you even got here. Nothing wrong with it per se, just different. A blunt impact. A shockwave.

Some things don’t change though, like how Jeno’s eyes light up when he gets to pick where they go for food (always some hole-in-the-wall restaurant, quaint and cute) or how Donghyuck ends up footing the bill every single time (even though they all make more than enough to afford paying, damn it).

So, they’re all crammed into a booth in the corner, steaming bowls of ramen set in front of them. Dim lighting, gentle chatter. There’s a certain charm to it, a certain bustle that puts them all at rest.

Yeah. Donghyuck thinks about how lucky he is to be here. How he’s one in a million, living out his pipe dream with his best friends.

And that? That’s something.

—

_Four years ago:_

It’s the end of senior year when the band makes a comeback. It’s the end of senior year, they’ve just graduated, and someone goes _fuck it_ —we should bring back Eldritch, take her for a spin, like fixing up some old car. And it’s sudden, but no one has any objections—so they pull out the instruments from where they’ve been shoved into garages and closets, dust them off, and try again.

There’s a learning curve.

The first few rehearsals are mostly just filled with muttered curse words and occasional screams of frustration as everyone tries to first figure out how the hell to play again, and second how the hell to play _together_. Most of them have been messing around with their instruments during their years-long hiatus so they’re not entirely hopeless—but no serious playing, so there’s a lot of stumbling, a lot of stops and starts.

They also have the horrible realization that all of the songs they wrote when they were younger are at best, mediocre—and at worst, tear-your-hair-out inducing embarrassment. And not the marketable, niche kind of cringe—more just _what were we even thinking_. So there’s a lot of rewriting, and a lot of new material as well.

That’s the difference, really. Being older means that they’ve got at least a semi-better understanding of how to do shit—or at least a better understanding than any freshman. Being older means that they have jobs—albeit shitty ones—that let them actually invest in some quality when they’re recording. Being older means that Jaemin knows a guy who helps get them into gigs, helps them do things that extend beyond the range of their basements.

And there’s something to be said about that. About doing everything all over again, going through all the growing pains, but watching things actually unfold in front of you.

It’s a bit like deja-vu, but also not quite. Because sure, there’s the sweet warmth of _I’ve been here before_ that creeps into rehearsals, some nostalgia trip back to when they first started—but lagging just a beat behind is the cold rush of _but everything’s different and nothing’s the same._ That sort of intersection.

(They also rename the band, just for a fresh start—rebranding as Tamagotchi Nightmare. Yes, like the digital pets. Apparently, Chenle had a thing for hoarding them as a kid? So one journey up to his dusty attic, a mysterious cardboard box labeled ‘DON’T TOUCH’ in bright red marker, and a few horribly out-of-context messages to their group chat later, and _boom_. Christened.)

Their first venue—their first _proper_ venue—Donghyuck doesn’t stop fidgeting the whole ride there.

They’re split into two different cars in order to have enough space to carry over all their equipment—Jaemin driving himself, Jisung, and Chenle in one car and Jeno taking Donghyuck and Renjun in another. Renjun puts some lofi mix on the speakers to try and calm them down, but it doesn’t really work—everyone’s nerves amplified, the air charged with anxiety and that buzz of _don’t fuck this up_.

Donghyuck’s leg bounces up and down constantly from where he’s sat shotgun, and he’s thankful that it’s not Renjun driving because he would’ve gotten his head chewed off ages ago for not keeping still.

Bounce. Bounce.

All of the buildings rushing by look the same. At first, Donghyuck had tried to keep track of everything he saw—but after the thirtieth grayscale tall-ish building, everything kinda just dulls to a vague blur.

“Are we there yet?” he asks, despite the GPS app on Jeno’s phone clearly displaying that there’s still at least forty more minutes until they arrive. Sue him, what else is he supposed to do?

Jeno says: “No, Duckie. Not quite,” with the patience of an angel, and Donghyuck lets out a long, overexaggerated sigh. Bounces his leg some more as he stares out the window. Checks his texts to see Chenle’s play-by-play commentary on what’s going on in their car, to lukewarm receptions by the rest of them.

At some point, he must fall asleep—because the next thing he knows, he’s being shaken awake by Renjun and being groggily led across the parking lot to the backstage area. And after that, there’s… more waiting. Eventually, they get up on stage to test acoustics and warm up, but then they’re shooed back to their room to twiddle their thumbs some more.

It’s a long night.

The air conditioning in their waiting room is busted, only making a weird humming noise and not actually doing anything to cool them down. Renjun doesn’t stop pacing, and Jaemin keeps a hand on Jeno’s knee the entire downtime, for both of their sakes. They’re nowhere near the biggest act of the night.

It’s not glorious, nothing grand or flourished, no trumpets or glamour— 

But damn is it rewarding to stand on stage as a band. To announce their name proudly to the crowd, and to actually get a pretty decent response back. There’s a special sort of satisfaction to it, a feeling of accomplishment that’s incomparable.

Some part of Donghyuck, one that’s buried deep beneath years upon years of academia and college applications and societal pressure, quietly marvels to himself that he wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of his life, wouldn’t mind at all.

—

By some miracle of the stars aligning in their favor, they manage to start gaining popularity. A few dozen streams turn into a few thousand, the venues that they perform at get larger and larger, Jisung even gets recognized by a fan one day as he’s out getting the band coffee.

It’s kinda insane, honestly. Their rise is meteoric and almost unheard of. Donghyuck will be the first to admit that you can’t make it on just talent or a good album to make it these days—oh no, in this day and age it takes a fuckton of luck. Being in the right place at the right time, having the social media algorithms play out in your favor, happening to know the right people, the works.

There’s a reason why the broke musician stereotype exists. There’s a reason why there’s an entire underground crawling with no-names frantically trying to leech onto any sort of deal before they reach their expiration date. Entire swarms of people who haven’t made it yet, and never will despite all the years they put into the job.

But, somehow, they’re one of the few groups that hits their lucky strike, that gets to shoot their once-in-a-lifetime shot. It makes Donghyuck’s head spin sometimes, as he struggles to fully comprehend how one dumb hobby blew up so fast.

And everything culminates when one day, Chenle pops in at the end of rehearsal, phone in hand and a huge grin on his face.

“So!” he starts, making himself at home on one of the ragged couches. “You know how I’ve been promoting you guys like mad?” he pauses for dramatic effect, motioning for everyone to come closer before continuing, “Well, we _may_ be getting… kinda sorta potentially signed to a record label?”

It’s kinda funny how fast everyone goes still at his words. One of those moments where you really could hear a pin drop in the silence. Donghyuck would probably find it even funnier if he wasn’t so busy being shocked himself.

“Shut the fuck up,” Donghyuck eventually finds himself saying, still shellshocked to his core, and then tacks on a: “What the absolute fuck. You’re joking.”

(Fuck: such a lovely, versatile word. Gets the job done in so many instances. Thank god they stopped having a swear jar.)

“Look for yourself, baby. It’s as real as things get,” Chenle says, waving his phone under Donghyuck’s nose and clearly reveling in the moment.

Donghyuck scans through the email on his screen. Sifts through lots of legal bullshit, lots of formalities, but there it is, clear as day: someone actually wants to sign them.

Holy shit, someone actually wants to sign them. And… it’s a pretty damn big label too.

“What the fuck,” he says again, beginning to sound like a broken record at this point, and then, “Holy fuck—” just for good measure.

Around the room, Jeno’s eyes are blown wide open, and Donghyuck can almost see the gears in his head turning. Jaemin is grinning like a lunatic and going over to smother Jisung, who— _is he crying? oh, god, yeah that’s a tear alright—_ who starts tearing up.And Donghyuck shoots up from where he’s sitting and collides into Renjun—grabbing him by the shoulders, jumping around, and screaming crazily.

Needless to say, they’re happy. Or, well, happy doesn’t seem to even begin to scratch the surface of the feeling, but there’s really no word that can unpack everything. So being happy will have to do.

They go out for food to celebrate, the five of them packed in the seats of their town’s janky McDonald’s, as excited as they can get without being too rowdy.

It’s good.

Jisung’s stopped crying and now is beaming like someone gave him definitive proof that aliens exist. Jeno can’t go more than five minutes without muttering ‘ _we got signed’_ under his breath, to which Renjun laughs at, and Jaemin goes around taking photo after photo.

And as for Donghyuck?

Donghyuck’s content with just leaning back in his seat, enjoying his chicken nuggets and committing the moment to memory. Because this is one of those things you don’t ever forget.

(“Oh, and also—” Chenle says as they’re cleaning up and getting ready to leave— “They’re saying that we need to rename the band. Something about trademark?”

He’s met with a chorus of groans. But they’ll figure it out in due time.)

—

_Two years ago:_

There’s this one time where Donghyuck gets horribly sick and loses his voice—and consequentially, is made to rest. They get some guy named Mark to fill in his guitar parts and Renjun takes up the bulk of his vocals, and Donghyuck is forced to sit out right before a huge concert.

It blows. Like, really, _really_ blows. If he still had the ability to talk he’d probably be complaining every second—but sadly that’s no longer an option, so he opts for the second best choice: watching the rest of the band play.

And it’s an experience, to say the least.

Look, here’s the thing: Donghyuck is one of those soulful bitches that closes their eyes whenever they’re really feeling it—which is most of the time when he’s performing. That combined with the fact that he’s usually stood up front and only monitors himself when rewatching their concerts, and he’s left with the realization that he’s never really properly watched his members perform before.

Which leads to the realization that his members are very, _very_ attractive when they’re onstage.

Oh, shit.

(Not Jisung though—objectively, Donghyuck realizes that he’s quite cute too, but he’ll never think of Jisung as more of his little brother, infuriating but horribly endearing.)

The others however?

Hmm. Yeah.

If Donghyuck didn’t already have his gay crisis freshman year in bio, he’d probably be having one right now.

There’s Jaemin: scenestealer, showstopper, heartbreaker. Electric blue hair slicked into a smooth comma, cherry red lips pulled tight around bared teeth, head grooving along with the beat. He’s on his favorite guitar right now—glossy black with a splash of white in the middle and a pink heart sticker that he’s been replacing since he tacked the original one on in high school—and he looks maniacally good, absolutely wicked as he shreds away during his guitar solo.

There’s Jeno: pulse of the band, safety net, calm and steady. Practiced hands plucking out a bass line with ease, guiding the melody smoothly along. He’s _into_ it, and it shows when he shouts at the crowd to rile them up, when he throws his head back out of pure ecstasy and peers through hooded eyes. It’s unfairly alluring. Unfairly hot. A suckerpunch straight into the soul. Look once and never look back. Slow dive straight into the deep end.

And there’s Renjun: ethereal, gorgeous, golden and blinding underneath the lighting. When he sings, it’s like he’s dipping each lyric into his bloody heart and pouring it all into your cupped hands, like he’s only got a few breaths left and is fully aware of the fact. When he sings, you can’t help but to feel as if every word is suddenly reinvented, repurposed for this song and this song only. And you’re okay with your sudden amnesia, okay with getting swept up in his voice and letting everything else fall away.

And _oh,_ if Donghyuck wasn’t completely and utterly screwed beforehand, he sure as hell is now.

—

_Four years ago:_

Here’s a story that has yet to be dug up by prying interviewers and nosy fans: the band almost splits up at one point, way before any of the fame they have now.

It happens right as they start to get big—before any sort of record deals, but a good amount of people still know about them. And it’s no one’s fault, not really, more just a lot of stress. A lot of nerves. If you put a bunch absurdly high strung people together and keep on aggravating them, eventually someone’s gonna snap.

Yeah.

Donghyuck keeps on pushing and pushing them, desperate to not waste their chance when they’re just on the edge of making it; Renjun is juggling school work, band rehearsals, and overbearing parents all at once. It’s by all accounts a recipe for disaster, and it all blows up in their faces one day during rehearsal.

Donghyuck’s memory of the fight is blurry—be it from time taking its toll or from trying to repress it—but things pretty much go like this:

Renjun misses a string of notes for the second time that rehearsal, so Donghyuck cuts off the rest of the band with an annoyed grunt to chide him a bit for messing up.

And Donghyuck thinks it’s normal, something that they would all do to him if he made a mistake too, but instead Renjun’s eyes narrow and all of a sudden he’s telling Donghyuck, “Don’t you think you’re being a little much?”

It’s a jolt to Donghyuck’s self-defense instincts.

His eyebrows raise. “What do you mean ‘a little much’? You messed up; you gotta own up to it.”

“No, I mean—don’t you think you’re taking this whole band thing too seriously?” Renjun throws back.

Donghyuck feels a headache incoming. Fuck. He really doesn’t want to be doing this right now. “Too seriously? Renjun, we only have one shot at getting this right, we can’t afford to _not_ take it seriously.” 

Apparently it’s the wrong thing to say. “Yeah, and what happens if we fail? Hmm? What if we don’t make it, what then?”

“Guys—” Jeno tries to say, but Renjun cuts him off:

“You need to fucking get your head out of the clouds and realize that not all of us can be like you. Not all of us can just drop everything and go.”

Donghyuck’s eyes narrow. “You’re just scared.”

“Fuck, yeah I’m scared!” Renjun shouts back. “We’re not—we’re not stars, Donghyuck; we’re a bunch of dumb teens making shitty music and running away from our real life responsibilities. It’s not going to work.”

“Renjun—”

Renjun gathers all of his things and shoves them into his bag. “God. Fuck this, I’m leaving,” he says, before storming up the stairs. There’s a click and a bang as the door slams shut behind him.

Shit.

Something in Donghyuck sinks, cold and heavy. It feels a lot like regret. It feels a lot like when all the anger runs out and all that’s left is burn-out.

Donghyuck fucked up, didn’t he?

They’ve had their share of petty fights before, but nothing like this—Renjun had looked seconds away from quitting the band entirely.

He sighs. “Rehearsal’s over everyone. You can go home, there’s not much point in continuing.”

Jeno and Jaemin nod solemnly and pick their things up in silence before saying goodbye and going home together. Jisung helps them pack, but hangs around afterwards.

“Hey, uhh, Donghyuck? Can I hang around a bit longer to practice some more? The acoustics here are nicer than in my own house… ”

“Hmm? Oh, sure, go ahead,” Donghyuck says dismissively, and then adding: “I think my mom wanted me to run some errands though, so I’ll be outta the house, but use all the time you want.”

Jisung smiles, a tiny quirk of the mouth. “Okay, thanks dude.”

“Yep, anytime,” Donghyuck says, chuckling a little despite himself.

—

When Donghyuck comes back, Jisung’s still playing away—and apparently doesn’t notice that he’s there—so he busies himself with tidying up the place as he watches him drum away.

Although Donghyuck had been a bit hesitant when Jaemin first introduced them to Jisung, knowing him only as the kid who skipped a few grades and was way younger than anyone else in their year, he’d warmed up to his presence and eventually come to treasure his existence, as cheesy as it sounds.

The kid’s passionate, and it shows.

It shows in how he grooves to the music coming from his headphones, head bobbing along in time as he plays along. In how he bites his lip when he hits a particularly hard fill and how he grins, just a bit to himself, when he nails it.

Hmm. Add talented to the list as well.

Jisung finishes the track with a flourish and makes a grand bow to some imaginary audience, before jumping when he spots Donghyuck watching.

“Wha—oh, Jesus, how long have you been standing there?” he says as he clutches his chest in surprise.

Donghyuck laughs. “Long enough.”

“Warn a guy next time?”

“No promises.”

“Hmph,” Jisung says, puffing out his cheeks in mock annoyance which only makes Donghyuck laugh more.

“Just messing with you, kiddo. You play well.”

Jisung’s eyes light up. “Really? Wahh, thank you… ”

“Yes, really.” Donghyuck smiles fondly. “I’m glad you’re in the band.”

“I’m glad you let me be in the band… music is, like—” Jisung breaks off, scrunching his nose a bit— “I dunno. As cliché as it sounds, it’s my dream, man. And it’s really cool to be here.”

“Hah. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Donghyuck reaches over to ruffle his hair. “Good on you, Sungie, good on you.”

And later, as he’s sending Jisung out the door with a bag full of his mom’s cookies, he thinks to himself _damn, I really need to fix this_.

—

He does patch things up, eventually. Makes a deal with Renjun to give him one year, just one, to try and take the band thing somewhere. And if it doesn’t take off by then, everyone’s free to go.

They’re still a little rough for a few weeks afterwards, sharp corners and whatnot, but they get over it.

And then, of course, they hit Jackpot.

—

_Four years ago:_

After leaving McDonald’s and dropping Chenle and Jisung off at their houses, the four of them decide to have a sleepover at Jeno’s house, just like old times, to celebrate the occasion. They’ve all been neighbors since the dawn of time, so it’s easy for all of them to walk around to get everyone’s stuff before piling in Jeno’s room.

Rock-paper-scissors to see who gets the bed with Jeno, in which Renjun triumphantly wins, order a few pizzas (half with mushrooms and half without, because Donghyuck thinks mushrooms taste like car tires), and pretty much just do dumb shit until they all crash. Yeah, this is it.

Except, maybe not so much the crashing part tonight for Donghyuck—as he lies awake and stares at the blaring red numbers of the clock sitting on the nightstand.

It’s three am. Witching hour.

Donghyuck decides to get up and grab a drink, just for the hell of it. Pads downstairs to the kitchen, more than familiar with the layout of the place, only to find that Jaemin’s already beat him there. He sits at the counter—hair ruffled, eyes slipping shut, and hands clutched around a cup of chamomile tea—and greets Donghyuck cheerfully:

“Couldn’t sleep either, eh?”

“Hah. Yep,” Donghyuck says as he slips into the seat next to Jaemin.

“Mmm,” hums Jaemin.

They don’t say much after that, sitting in companionable silence as Donghyuck tries to clear his head. He gets lost at some point in staring at the tile pattern on the floor, and when he comes to, Jaemin’s staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

Huh.

Now, Jaemin’s been doing this for years—the thing where you look over only to see that he’s studying you like your cupid’s bow is somehow the best thing since canned soup—and Donghyuck is mostly used to it at this point. But, something about the setting maybe—the late hour, the fluorescent lighting, the cold countertop—or maybe just the aftereffects of the day, something about all of it makes it feel different.

Makes Donghyuck quietly suck in a breath as Jaemin’s eyes meet his, curious and now fully open.

Someone leans in.

Very softly, Jaemin asks: “Can I kiss you?” And Donghyuck obliges him.

Kissing Jaemin is… warm. A bit chapped, he won’t lie, but Donghyuck will let him off the hook since it’s late. That aside though, it’s nice. Familiar. Comfortable.

But— 

Donghyuck pulls away. “Jaemin,” he says, “I—Renjun and Jeno. The two of them. Them as well.”

You know when you say something and your immediate reaction is _oh shit_? Uh. This is one of them.

Jaemin’s gaze softens. “Oh, Duckie—” he cups Donghyuck’s face gently— “I know, baby. I know. Me too.”

Something inside stutters, and damn—this is it, huh? This is him baring his soul to Jaemin.

“Fuck,” Donghyuck says eloquently, and lets himself be held by Jaemin. “God, fuck. How did this even happen?”

“Hey—” Jaemin drops a kiss on his forehead— “It’s okay. We’re… going to have to do a lot of talking. But just this is fine for now, yeah?”

Donghyuck breathes, in and out. There’s a shudder tucked inside of it somewhere. “Mmm, yeah. Alright.” He pauses. “Then, can you kiss me again?”

Jaemin brightens, face lighting up in pleasant surprise. “Of course, Duckie. Of course.”

And yeah. They’ll talk about it… later.

—

_Present day:_

Donghyuck wonders what would’ve happened if things hadn’t turned out the way they did that day. If he had fallen asleep normally, if it was someone else in the kitchen keeping him company, if Jaemin didn’t kiss him.

If Jaemin hadn’t sat the four of them one day and, hand in hand with Donghyuck, forced them to talk things through. If they hadn’t figured out whatever arrangement they have now—with a lot of trial and error, sure, but they’ve made it work.

Hmm.

It’s not a fun thought. So instead, he focuses on everything that _has_ happened:

They move out of their small-town into a bigger city. The four of them in one of those skyscraper penthouse apartments—wide, sweeping windows that lead down to a birds-eye view of the city, clean and neat architecture, and two beds pushed together for four people. Golden mornings lit by the rising sun, blanketed nights painted by the city lights.

And they rebrand the band one final time. After cycling through a lot of names that sound cool (Disco Inferno, hot cocoa carry on, Terracotta Lament) but don’t have much other meaning, they settle on Lucid Dream—something about how this is their dream, and they’re fully aware of it. Something heart-warming and sentimental like that.

So, they perform together as Lucid Dream—and they live together as just Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, and Jaemin. Four kids who somehow managed to stumble all the way from being angry teens stuck in a basement to actual artists with quite the career to their names.

And Donghyuck?

Donghyuck wouldn’t trade it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> and that's a wrap! thank you for reading! shoutout to other ash + jiemei club for listening to me lose my mind over this fic @____@ i wrote most of this within the span of two and a half days...so if you spot and errors feel free to let me know. otherwise, any and all thoughts are welcome in the comments or on twt + cc! really. even if you only comment a single 'cool', i will be happy. 
> 
> twt: [@nanodarlings](https://twitter.com/nanodarlings)  
> cc: [aphelions](https://curiouscat.me/aphelions)  
> 
> 
> [inspiration](https://hereinevitably.dreamwidth.org/5739.html)


End file.
